


The Adventure of the Broken Hearts

by cinnamon_lyons



Series: Dark Days: Holmes and Moriarty [10]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Holmes being a callous bastard, M/M, Moriarty angry and betrayed, betrayal sex, lots of bitterness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 01:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamon_lyons/pseuds/cinnamon_lyons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in 1886, six months after Holmes and Moriarty split (at the end of ‘The Final Amendment’). Moriarty is bitter and hurt, but still doesn’t understand why Holmes left him, until they encounter each other again.</p><p>As this is narrated by Moriarty, there is little or no moralising: violence/rape/torture are pretty much normal to him. Although this particularly story doesn’t really go into this: bitterness is kind of the main focus!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of the Broken Hearts

It was six months before I saw Holmes again. In that time, I had not been idle. I had finished my research shortly before the riot at which Toby Vincent met his end and easily gained a mathematics professorship. Although I enjoyed the challenge of abstract problems, I was sadly not the ideal candidate for university life. An unfortunate public revelation of certain indiscretions with my students required me to resign my post after just a few months. Not that this worried me unduly. The political agitations in which I had previously been involved had introduced me to a number of dubious contacts, and I had already established a promising secondary career dabbling in a variety of criminal practices. Once I began to apply myself to this full time, I quickly discovered that I had an even greater aptitude for crime than I did for the binomial theorem!

I left Elephant and Castle and Mrs. Hardcastle and my improved income allowed me to rent a handsome terrace in Bloomsbury, complete with several servants. I congratulated myself at my excellent fortunes and told myself that, all these years, Holmes had simply been holding me back. I didn’t miss him: I didn’t give myself time to miss him! I cut myself off from all the mutual contacts we had previously held. Even young Charlie Wootton was denied my new address as a bona fide gentleman (although I gave him one final night by which to remember me well). I still didn’t understand why Holmes had abandoned me, but I was at least as proud as he and certainly did not intend to run after him, although a few innocent enquiries told me that he had finally achieved his own dream by finding a set of rooms in Baker Street.

My life was near perfect, I told myself. I had money, fear, respect – and as many young men as I cared to take a knife to. So my reaction to the telegram the maid brought me one morning came as something of a shock.

“Begging your pardon, but are you all right, sir?” Ellie was obviously as surprised as I was when I sat down quite suddenly, heart hammering and the page clenched in my fist. “You’ve gone quite pale!”

I nodded, quite unable to speak for a moment.

“Brandy. Get me a brandy.” I managed at last. When she hurried from the room, I unfolded the sweaty sheet once again. It read simply.

BREAKFAST STOP H STOP

**

When I finally pulled myself together, I considered what the telegram might mean. The fact that it recalled our first ever correspondence back in Oxford was obviously not chance. Holmes wanted me to know this came from him: perhaps he also wanted me to recall days when we two were fonder of each other. I found myself hoping it was an apology, of sorts. Perhaps he had realised his mistake and wanted to throw himself into my arms and beg forgiveness! 

I crumpled up the telegram again; annoyed at myself for letting my fancies run away with me. I was still more annoyed that I was forced to admit that I _wanted_ this explanation to be true, despite its implausibility. No, in all likelihood this was some elaborate cruelty of his. After all, he hadn’t even told me when and where we might breakfast. Maybe he didn’t intend anything at all other than to rattle me!

I slept little that night, plagued by racing thoughts. When I did sleep, Holmes invaded my dreams as well, so that I woke in the early hours with an insistent erection, which for once I refused to gratify. I dressed early, and broke my fast despite the invitation in the previous day’s telegram, trying to read the paper but eating little and barely taking in one word in ten. Eventually, at 8am, I left the house.

There was a hansom cab outside the door and, as I marched down my front steps, the driver called out.

“Professor Moriarty?”

I gave the man such a scowl I was surprised he didn’t turn to stone, but he stood his ground, announcing cheerfully.

“I’ve been asked to escort you to breakfast, sir.”

To my eternal shame, the war that waged inside me lasted all of thirty seconds before, without a word to the cab driver, I clambered into the carriage.

**

Breakfast turned out to be at the Alexandra Hotel at Hyde Park: a rather magnificent location that suggested Holmes was attempting to impress me. I rolled my eyes, but since I had come this far I supposed I might as well discover what he wanted. Yet when I enquired of the concierge as to where I might find Mr. Holmes, I was surprised to be told that said gentleman had requested that I join him for breakfast in his suite. 

I wasn’t entirely overjoyed at the prospect of being alone with a man who might now be my enemy but I followed the servant nonetheless, reminding myself that even unarmed I stood a reasonable chance against Holmes. And, of course, I was rarely unarmed.

When I entered the spacious room, Holmes was standing on the far side of the parlour, gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling windows across Hyde Park. He didn’t turn when I entered, or even when the porter took his tip and retired, closing the door with a muffled thud. I watched him across the neatly laid breakfast table in the centre of the room. Somehow, I had expected him to have changed after all these months, but his clothing, his stance, the slim outline of his body... he could have been standing in the window of that West End hotel where we had celebrated destruction with sodomy!

And then he turned, and his face was as closed and distant as ever I had seen it.

“Moriarty,” He said, in clipped, formal tones, approaching the breakfast table. “You’re looking well.”

“Perhaps being without you agrees with me.” I suggested, trying to match his tone but aware that a hint of bitterness had crept into my voice. He laughed shortly.

“Shall we?” He indicated the table, drawing back the chair in front of him and taking a seat. Taking charge as usual, he had poured the coffee before I even sat down.

“I had wondered if I’d even find you here,” I told him. “If you remember, the last time you sent me that same message, you stood me up.”

“I remember it well.” He said, helping himself to a piece of toast. “I also remember that you found a way to get to me in the end.” I wondered if I could detect a faintly wistful note in his voice: or perhaps that was only what I wanted to hear. I decided not to beat around the bush any longer.

“So, why the sudden desire to see me after all this time?” I asked.

“Still as demanding as ever, eh James?” He chuckled. The sudden familiarity of his tone rankled me. I scowled, and he put down his cup and suddenly became serious. “It’s a business matter, of course.

“Oh, of course, whatever else would it be?” I was aware I was starting to sound petulant. Holmes ignored my outburst, steepling his fingers on the edge of the table, seemingly ready for a long explanation.

“I am investigating a most perplexing case at present, and I had hoped you would assist me, as you did of old. The reason I arranged this hotel as a meeting place is that I have been staying here for a few days, investigating some strange occurrences at a funfair in Hyde Park. Since the amusement has been in operation – just three weeks – four men have mysteriously died there. All these deaths have been pronounced by the coroner to be of natural causes, and so the fair has continued to draw in the crowds. Yet there are some striking similarities among the deaths. All four men died in the covered area of the Tunnel Railway. All four were alone with either a wife or sweetheart in the carriage. And, in all four, their hearts appear to quite suddenly have stopped.”

Holmes paused for a moment, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Broken hearts in the tunnel of love?” I couldn’t help smirking a little. “Sounds rather poetic.” Holmes didn’t smile.

“Naturally I suspect poison. At least two of the men were habitual Chloral takers, and thus the heart was probably already weakened.” He said, and then his brow furrowed in annoyance. “But the police have found nothing. I have no doubt that I could detect any chemicals present in the corpses, but the authorities persist in refusing me access to the mortuary.” It was obvious that it infuriated him that his genius remained unrecognised in official circles.

“On whose behalf are you investigating?” I enquired.

“Oh, one of the ladies became suspicious when she heard there had been another case. She visited the wife concerned, and the two together came to me. They are certain the coroner is incorrect, and angered that the police investigation has been closed.”

“Not really the sort of case we used to investigate.” I snorted, not entirely sure why Holmes was interested in it. He sat back, eyebrows slightly raised.

“True enough,” He said, “But that would hardly have remained an advisable way for me to make a living after the new law was passed.” I thought this rather cowardly.

“Next thing you’ll be telling me you’re engaged to be married!” I said scornfully. Holmes didn’t rise to this.

“Anyway, the case was already in my sights. I have reason to believe that someone I have been trying to lay my hands on for some time is involved.” He explained.

“And who might that be?” I assumed this was the reason for the sudden invitation.

“Hans Von Berndorf.” Holmes said carefully, and I could see that he was watching me for a reaction. “I believe you have had some dealings with him.” I shrugged.

“I have made his acquaintance.” I said casually. Then I tilted my head, thoughtfully. “He _is_ one of ours, you know.”

“Have you _had_ him then, Moriarty?” Holmes was smirking now.

“If you’ve ever met the man, my dear Holmes, you’ll know full well he’s not my type.” I was actually starting to find myself enjoying this repartee. Holmes laughed.

“Indeed. Von Berndorf is repulsive on many fronts. An inveterate swindler, the Austrian businessman he is currently impersonating is his third alias in less than a decade. He was last known in Paris, as the Swiss banker Lombard, and mysterious deaths occurred in his vicinity then as well. I’m positive he is behind the Hyde Park puzzle, but I can find no connection between him and the gentlemen or the means by which he procured their deaths.” Holmes had become quite animated during this speech, and it was clear that solving this long-running mystery was important to him. I sat back in my chair, and regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.

“So, it seems you cannot solve this case without my help.” I said slowly. “But I’m afraid I still don’t see what’s in this for me.” Holmes smiled slowly.

“James, darling,” He drawled, “Why do you think I arranged to meet you in a private room?”

I was struck dumb for a moment, never having anticipated such an insinuation. I probably looked quite a picture, for Holmes laughed.

“Did you not miss me?” He asked, almost teasingly. I swallowed hard, finding my voice at last.

“You left me!” I reminded him, not a little petulantly. He rose from his chair then, and I found myself frozen in mine as he stepped around behind me. I felt the warmth of his hands laid on my shoulders, and his voice was almost soothing.

“I hope you’ll believe that I’m sorry for it.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper. The hairs rose on the back of my neck, and I felt the rest of my body relax into his honeyed tones, a moment of sheer pleasure.

I knew, of course, that it was all a falsehood. I knew full well how little he cared for me. Yet, to my shame, I let myself believe, just for that moment. I let my body lean into his, neck arching as his lips brushed against it.

The worst thing was to learn how much I still wanted him.

My mind was conflicted but I quashed the doubts angrily, tilting my face so that my lips brushed his, raising a hand to grasp the back of his head. I wouldn’t be tentative or passive: I never was! I pulled his face towards mine, open mouths meeting. His tongue invaded my throat in a heartbeat, barely giving me time to think.

I found myself groaning faintly, arms wrapped around him, my fingers tangling through his hair as I clutched Holmes close, kissing him hungrily. Beneath everything, the tragedy of this moment hit me. This was my prize? This was what would ensure I played the part he wanted? Was I really so easy to manipulate?

And then my grasping fingers slid inside his shirt, touching silken-haired skin, and the moment of doubt faded as rapidly as it had arisen. Why hesitate when confronted with this?

We rose together, and it was barely clear who was leading who as we stumbled towards the bedstead. I let myself believe that it was his desire (and not his design) that threw me onto the sheets, clawing at my shirt buttons before sliding a hand down to grip the stiff shaft of my erection through the thick fabric of my trousers.

I gasped, mouth open against his neck, my own fingers fumbling with the clasp of his trousers, sliding them down over his buttocks. As my hands met warm skin, and I wriggled out of my own clothing, I wondered for a brief moment whether he was going to let me bugger him. For the cause, naturally!

He knew me better than that, of course. Knew I would have been disappointed if it had all been too easy, so that when we were both finally naked we were left wrestling for dominance on the broad mattress, teeth scraping skin, limbs flailing, cocks butting angrily against each other’s flesh.

Did I let him win? I never really knew. We had played this game so many times before, but never for the stakes that presented themselves now. My struggles were genuine, and yet I always somehow knew I would submit to him. Perhaps he did too. Perhaps that was a pattern that had characterized our entire relationship.

But I refused to think of that now. Instead, gasping, I let him roll me onto my back, his spit-slicked fingers stroking between my legs. I groaned, raising my knees, wanting him closer, my breath rushing out in a hiss as his body slammed against mine, his fingers gripping my knees as he angled his cock inside me with a forceful thrust.

My eyelids fluttered – it took a moment to accommodate to the feeling of being filled, of his cock crammed up inside me, moving slowly and then harder, more urgently.

“Oh God.” I bit the words back as I said them, as if I could still somehow hide how much I needed him. He didn’t even acknowledge that I had spoken, his fingers digging into my thighs as he held them up, cock slamming into my arsehole – an urgent pounding that I could barely ignore: fucking me, filling me…

Through all this, I never thought he cared for me. I didn’t consider that he had any interest beyond what he could get out of me – that he had much interest, even, in my body. But then he gasped, tilting his head so that his open mouth brushed against mine.

“James…” He breathed, his hands sliding up my body to pull me closer, tongue slipping clumsily between my lips. The whispered word – that one short syllable – and the sheer energy of his kiss was enough to bring me over the edge. Lying beneath him – his cock buried deep in my arse, his tongue in my throat, and my hands clinging to his back – my body spasmed in helpless orgasm.

**

The last dealings I had had with Von Berndorf had been a few months ago, soon after he arrived in London but before the mysterious deaths Holmes described. I had been co-ordinating a scheme to persuade foolish aristocrats to invest their wealth in a fictitious overseas speculation: Von Berndorf was employed as one of the swindlers who helped persuade the targets to get involved, for I had learnt from Holmes that it was generally better not to get one’s own hands too dirty if it could be avoided. The connection, however, meant that it was easy enough to carry out some innocent enquiries into Von Berndorf’s subsequent movements.

My first discovery of interest was that one of the dead gentlemen – a Mr. Francis Cutler - had been duped by the investment scheme, and appeared to have incurred heavy debts as a result. This was the first link to be found between Von Berndorf and the fairground deaths, and I was eager to impart my news to Holmes. It seemed to me as if Von Berndorf may have been using one crime to procure another; although I had not discovered the identity of the third party to whom Mr. Cutler had become indebted, I imagined that it was likely to lead to the other dead gentlemen.

We had arranged to meet at the site of the deaths the following afternoon, and I found Holmes as agreed at the entrance to the covered railway. I told myself that I definitely hadn’t dressed up for the occasion – or only inasmuch as I wished to display my superior wealth. Holmes, however, immediately looked me up and down and raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve certainly been doing well for yourself.” He remarked. I shrugged, with a smile that was as casual as my appearance was not.

“I’ve been doing even better in procuring information for you.” I informed him. He nodded, his expression becoming more serious.

“I think we should have some privacy for this conversation, don’t you?” He asked, nodding towards the ticket booth at the entrance to the ride. I laughed.

“Or is it just that you don’t think I’ll pass the information on without a little incentive?” I smirked.

“Perhaps.” Holmes passed some small change to the ticket clerk, and we entered onto the platform. 

The fair was quiet at this time of day, and only two other thrillseekers waited at the side of the track as the train shunted into the platform in a cloud of steam. Holmes led me to the rear of the train, as far away from our fellow passengers as possible, and motioned me to board ahead of him. As the train began to move, he turned to me expectantly.

“Well, what have you discovered?” He asked. I laughed.

“Where’s my incentive?” I teased him, but he took this with good humour.

“I think you’d better wait until we are under cover, my dear.” His eyes sparkled a little. This was true enough – although the fair was quiet, there were still a few sparse groups of visitors watching the train pass by. “Why not whet _my_ appetite a little first?”

“Well, I have found a connection between Von Berndorf and one of the victims.” I began. Holmes looked rather pleased at this information.

“I didn’t think you would disappoint me!” He said, sounding as if he was enjoying the resumption of our partnership. “Which victim?”

“Francis Cutler.” I informed him. Then I leant a little closer, lowering my voice even though we could scarcely be heard above the noise of the train. “I must admit, this information places me in a rather delicate position myself. I might need some proof of your allegiance, as it were, before I reveal the details.” As if on cue, the train whistled, and we rushed into the covered area of the tunnel.

I had thought he might hesitate. That we might need to wait until the train took its second turn of the tracks, or that his kiss might be uncertain. Yet, mere moments later, I felt his mouth touch mine in the darkness, his tongue pushed confidently between my lips. I gasped, kissing him back eagerly, one hand rising to the back of his neck to pull him closer.

So much had changed between us, and yet his kisses had lost none of their passion.

He pulled away as soon as the driver gave a warning whistle (presumably to ensure no humiliation was felt by any passengers should a moment of intimacy be witnessed by bystanders), and the train shot out above ground again, slowing as it made its way toward the platform.

Holmes flashed me a smile, his lips wet, his eyes bright with a desire I knew was mirrored in my own.

“Does that reassure you?” He asked. I grinned back, as the train rattled through the platform, picking up speed again for its second turn.

“Immensely, my dear Holmes.” I paused a moment, becoming more serious. “Cutler, it seems, fell foul of a little speculation swindle that I myself masterminded. Von Berndorf was one of the chaps I brought in to net the foolish dupes whose money would quickly line _my_ pockets.” I paused for a second. Holmes didn’t seem overly perturbed at this forthright description of one of my numerous crimes, so I went on. “It was not to me, however, that Cutler became dangerously indebted. My guess is that Von Berndorf sought to profit twice from the scheme. He encouraged Cutler to borrow extensively from a dangerous quarter, and then was paid himself by the financier to chase up the debts - and, no doubt, make an example of Cutler.”

“Do you know who provided the loan?” Holmes enquired. I shook my head.

“I shall keep looking, of course. However, if you follow up any debts that the other fellows might have incurred, this may be another way to reach our man.”

Holmes nodded in reply.

“While we have no hard evidence of the last part of your theory, I am aware that you know these circles well enough to hazard a likely guess.” He said. And then he grinned, almost teasingly. “Shall we see who can track down this moneylender first? Let’s say, ten guineas?” I laughed, his words bringing up fond memories of our earliest communications.

“I don’t want your money. Lord knows I have enough of it!”

“Indeed.” Holmes was still smiling. “I know exactly what you want.”

As the whistle signalled our entry to the tunnel once again, he pulled me close, kissing me so fervently I could almost believe our six month estrangement had been a dream.

**

It was a full three days before I heard from Holmes again. This had given me ample time to put another plan into action. I knew that, even if Holmes managed to track down the financier, Von Berndorf was intelligent enough to cover his tracks well. The only way to prove his involvement would be to catch him in the act. So, although I hadn’t told my former associate, I had already put another scheme into action by the time I enjoyed Holmes’ company on the covered railway. There were many men who had lost everything in certain ventures of which I was a part, so it was easy enough to choose a suitable target and put the word out that a lesson needed to be imparted: carefully selected sources ensuring that Von Berndorf would be employed to put it into practice. Even if Holmes managed to save this particular mark, the publicity would ensure that his narrow escape scared many others into paying up one way or another. Nonetheless, the whole performance was a little trickier than my previous venture, as I determined to remain enough steps removed that it would not be possible for even the most dedicated consulting detective to prove my own participation. Just to be on the safe side, of course!

I knew I had done my work well, so when I received a telegram from Holmes urging me to meet him at the fairground at seven that evening, I was not in the least surprised. His words were not hard to decipher, for I had been expecting the news.

RAILWAY CLAIMS ANOTHER TONIGHT STOP MEET 7PM STOP

As I strode through the already busy park, coloured lights twinkling in the darkness all around me and carnival music filling my ears, an oil-covered engineer in rough clothing pulled at my sleeve.

“This way, Professor.” He said, in gruff cockney tones. I nodded, allowing him to lead me through the sideshow stalls and behind a booth, where he lifted a flap of canvas, shining a torch into the darkness beyond. I slipped beneath, glancing up at the metalwork in front of me. There was a rushing and clattering noise and I glanced up as the sound passed overhead and faded into the distance.

“So, we are beneath the covered railway?” I enquired.

“Indeed.” Holmes answered, reverting to his usual tones. “We are an hour in advance of the time the intended victim is due to arrive, so I think we shall encounter Von Berndorf laying his trap.” He turned, the torch lighting up his gleeful face for a moment. “So, too, shall the police!”

I nodded. “I take it you identified the moneylender?”

“I did.” Holmes’ grin widened. “Are you disappointed not to win our wager, darling?” His tone was almost flirtatious. I chuckled, allowing my hand to brush down his side, fingers lingering over the curve of his buttocks.

“I rather think I may get my prize all the same.” I returned. “However, you must reveal the identity of the criminal to claim your victory.”

“Wetheridge.” He said, watching me for a reaction. “Joseph Wetheridge.” He paused for a second. “I believe he is a rival of yours?” I shrugged.

“I can’t say I’ll be sorry if you bring him down.” I admitted. He nodded.

“You’ll be at the pinnacle of London’s criminal enterprise if I do, will you not?” He sounded as if he suspected I had engineered the entire debacle. Well, let him wonder! I didn’t answer and he quickly turned away, extinguishing the lamp. “But I think we are nearing the time of our friend’s arrival.” He told me, beginning to pick his way quietly through the fretwork of the railway’s foundations. He motioned me to follow, and we were soon clambering beneath the tracks.

Holmes’ movements were stealthy, and became still slower and quieter as we neared the end of the tunnel. He waved a hand, indicating for me to stop and we paused, waiting in silence for long minutes as the train passed several more times overhead. I noticed on each occasion that it slowed as it moved through the tunnel, and appeared to be at its most leisurely pace just before it emerged again from the darkness.

Eventually, Holmes nudged me and I caught a movement above us, to one side of the platform. Someone seemed to be climbing the framework that held the canvas cover in place. Von Berndorf! He was carrying something on his back and, as we watched, he reached his intended location and hefted his cargo down, remaining in a precarious position on the scaffold as he set up some kind of device that projected outwards above the railway, barely visible in the darkness.

I squinted up at him, trying to make sense of the situation.

“It looks like a… carbolic spray?” I suggested, in a hushed whisper.

“I’m inclined to agree with you.” Holmes replied. “But I doubt the contents are as benign as carbolic. He has tipped the ride operator well to ensure that his target will be seated at the rear left of the train. Perhaps he will hit his mark on the first round: perhaps it is not until the second that the poison is breathed in. Whatever the substance is, I shall be fascinated to analyse it after his arrest. I have been promised better access to official facilities if my tip-off proves to be correct.” I nodded, realising how much we both had to gain from this episode.

“And when will the arrest take place?” I asked, hearing the train rattle towards us again.

“Soon enough.” Holmes remarked, as the train slowed. This time the brakes shrieked as it came to a complete halt within the tunnel. Lights suddenly flared up, illuminating the entire tunnel area. Von Berndorf was frozen to the spot for a moment, realizing, presumably, that the entire train was filled with police officers. Then he dropped his spray, ready to make a rapid descent. More officers swarmed past us on the ground to intercept the man, and Holmes flashed me a grin.

“I think I shall go and enjoy my moment of glory.” He said. “If you’d like to receive my full gratitude for your assistance, meet me at the Alexandra tomorrow evening.” And, with that, he was gone.

**

I knew better than to linger in a funfair swarming with the Metropolitan Police’s finest and I made a rapid exit from Hyde Park, hailing a cab to take me back to Bloomsbury – with a few stops along the way to put my own affairs in order. As Holmes had commented, it would suit me very well if Wetheridge was removed from London’s criminal underworld, but that didn’t mean I was going to neglect anything else I might gain from the Von Berndorf affair.

By the following afternoon, word seemed to have got out about the lucky escape of a ruined businessman from Von Berndorf’s clutches, and I received reports from a number of quarters as to the swift resolution of ongoing haggles over money and property. Of more interest, perhaps, was an offer of certain industrial secrets from one high profile engineer unable to pay his debts and one of my overseers in Wapping had also sent word that we now had a monopoly on the opium trade.

So it was with a spring in my step that I went to meet Holmes that evening. My optimism was such that I was seriously considering the ongoing resumption of our relationship: perhaps abroad? I had for a time been toying with the prospect of extending my reach beyond London. Perhaps Vienna would be our first port of call; then Geneva or Turin… there were many locations where I had promising leads, and where business and romance might be well combined.

Holmes was relaxing before the fire in a cloud of pipe smoke when I entered his rooms, a bottle of wine open on the table beside him. As the hotel porter withdrew and closed the door, he motioned for me to take a seat, pouring out another glass of the deep, crimson liquid.

“It’s the last day I shall be enjoying the luxury of the Alexandra Hotel.” He said casually as I relaxed into the plush armchair, taking the wine he proffered towards me. “We might as well make the most of it.”

“Mm…” I agreed, drinking deeply. The wine was, indeed, excellent. “You’ll soon be back in Baker Street, I take it?” I regarded him levelly over my glass.

“I’m sure you don’t expect me to be surprised that you’ve been investigating me?” His eyes sparkled. I didn’t change my expression, my voice cool.

“Would it surprise your _doctor_ to know that you’re with me now?” I asked carefully. He chuckled, seemingly enjoying the banter.

“I don’t think Watson need have anything to do with our little arrangement, do you?” He challenged me.

“And what arrangement do you and he have?” I hadn’t changed my tone, but this was one of the few things I _wasn’t_  quite sure of. Holmes laughed again.

“Jealous to the end, eh James?” He teased me. Then his tone became more serious, eyes fixed on me. “Don’t you think I learnt my lesson from our years together? A safe distance is a requirement in any human relationship.” He hadn’t really answered my question, but I allowed myself to assume.

“I can give you a better life than he can.” A little earnestness seemed to have crept into my tone, unbidden. Holmes cocked his head on one side.

“Indeed?”

“Of course.” I raised a hand, indicating the room. “This doesn’t have to be the last night at the Alexandra.” I took another sip of wine, letting my words sink in. “And there are luxury hotels across the Continent.” 

“Hmm.” Holmes nodded, weighing up my words. “You still want me then, Moriarty?” His words sounded almost like a challenge. I put down my glass, and got to my feet.

“Would you like me to show you how much?” I held out a hand towards him. Holmes gazed at me for a long moment and then he reached out, his long, thin fingers meeting mine, and he allowed me to pull him to his feet, sliding my arms around him. 

I could feel the hard muscle of his thighs through the fabric of his trousers, the smooth curve of his slim buttocks, the sharp bones of his hips… I gasped, tilting my head towards him, and he leaned forward also, mouth already open as his lips met mine.

Our kisses were urgent, forceful, tongues battling against each other. I felt the cool flesh of his fingers on the back of my neck, splaying up into my hair as he pulled me closer. My own hands gripped at his waist, pressing our bodies together, his chest crushed against mine. My cock was already hard, my balls tight with urgent need. I ground myself against him, gasping into his mouth as he kissed me fiercely.

I could hardly feel time passing, but eventually I managed to drag myself away from him, panting harshly. My dark eyes were fixed on his steel blue gaze, and I could see my own need reflected back at me.

“You still desire me?” It wasn’t really a question, but he smiled faintly in response.

“I never stopped desiring you.” He breathed. “Even at your worst, I still wanted you.” I planted a row of kisses along the line of his jaw, tongue flicking teasingly across the corner of his mouth.

“Then why did you leave me?” At the risk of ruining the moment, I needed to know. He sighed a little. The need didn’t leave his eyes, but his voice was more serious – even mournful. 

“Because even at your worst I could still see myself in you.” He closed his eyes for a second. I let my fingers brush along the base of his hairline, stroking gently at the soft skin.

“But that’s what makes us the perfect partnership.” I reminded him. “At our best, no man could ever match us!” He opened his eyes again, startlingly blue, startlingly honest for that one brief moment.

“James, darling, our best cannot atone for the things we did.” I could see the sadness in his eyes, and it still surprised me to witness it; a depth of emotion I had never considered he possessed until he left me.

I did the only thing I could think of to ease the melancholy. Stepping back, I took his hands and led him towards the bed where we had resumed our relationship just a few short days ago. He tumbled onto the mattress in my arms, clothing already rumpled.

“I want to.” I murmured in his ear, my hands ranging down his body, firmly caressing the bulge in his trousers. “I want to atone…”

I heard him gasp as I unbuttoned his shirt, hands caressing the pale skin of his chest, letting a finger flick carelessly over the hard point of one nipple. He slid my jacket from my shoulders, casting it aside, followed rapidly by my silk waistcoat. As I eased his shirt off, I ran kisses down his neck, then across his chest, tasting salt on his skin as I explored his body.

It seemed a lifetime ago I had last had the opportunity to enjoy every inch of his flesh. I smiled at the faintest of groans above me as I eased his trousers from his hips, mouthing his penis through his undergarments. He tilted his body up towards me, wriggling eagerly out of his clothing, breathing hard and fast as I finally allowed the tip of my tongue to meet the warm flesh of his cock, caressing the head before engulfing the stiff member in my throat.

That night would prove to be a long one. Later, I would suck him until his semen spilt, thick and cloying, into my throat. I would kiss him long and hard, as we pumped each other’s well-greased penises, masturbating ourselves to completion. I would taste his sweat-soaked skin, our bodies writhing against each other amid sheets rank with the results of our love-making.

But first, I needed to truly claim him as my own. I let his erection slip from between my lips, bending my head lower to slide my tongue along the cleft between his buttocks, rimming his anus. He groaned, drawing up his knees to give me better access until, eventually, I raised my head.

“Do you want me, Sherlock?” My words were part challenge, part entreaty. He smiled, and I could see fondness as well as desire in his eyes.

“ _Christ_ , I want you!” His breathless gasp was exactly what I needed to hear. I reached out for the ointment beside the bed, rubbing it onto my stiff member, before easing it smoothly inside him. Holmes gasped, his eyelids flickering. I realized, then, as I thrust into him, my entire body trembling, how much I had missed him. How had I thought I could manage without him? The only man who had ever been my equal, with whom I could share my hopes and desires, my dreams and my burning ambition.

As I felt my orgasm approach, I pulled him closer, lips eagerly searching out his.

“I love you…” I found myself murmuring into his open mouth, as I came with explosive intensity, knuckles whitening as I clung to the partner I had long thought I had lost forever.

“I know.” He sighed in response: words that could have meant almost anything but were, just for that moment, strangely reassuring.

**

I awoke to an empty bed, and an uncomfortable sensation in my right arm, which seemed to be twisted behind me. Frowning, I rolled over, wrenching my shoulder rather unpleasantly when my arm turned out to be secured above my head to the bedframe; double-locking handcuffs attaching my wrist to a solid metal bar. My heart pounded, although I was barely able to believe what was happening to me for a moment as I turned my gaze forward. 

Holmes was standing six feet away from the bed, straightening his neck-tie, already immaculately dressed. His lips spread into a smile as our eyes met, although there was no mirth in it.

“I thought only the innocent were supposed to sleep that deeply.” He said coldly.

“What are you doing?” I was dumbfounded. He laughed: a sharp, cracked sound, like breaking ice.

“In all your suspicions, it never crossed your mind that I would betray you? How very naïve of you, darling!” He took a step forward, remaining well beyond my reach.

“Let me tell you what has happened here.” He explained. “At seven this morning, the porter witnessed a young man leave a room booked by one Professor Moriarty. Fearing unnatural acts had taken place behind the closed doors of the establishment, he called the police. When the police arrive at eight, they will discover that the Professor has, most unfortunately, been outwitted by a thieving prostitute.” He picked up my purse as he said this last, eyes fixed on mine as he slid it into his pocket. “His money was stolen, and he was cleverly prevented from following the fiendish young man whose services he had employed by means of a pair of police issue handcuffs, which officers remember was stolen by a dubious-looking young man the previous week.”

I swallowed hard, still unable to comprehend this betrayal.

“You mean to have me arrested for indecency?” My words were choked. “A little hypocritical, old man!”

“Perhaps.” Holmes shrugged airily. “But who knows what else the police may uncover once they begin to investigate? My hypocrisy seems a very minor sin in comparison to your list of crimes.” I pulled in vain at the cuffs, my anger growing by the second.

“Did you plan this all along?” I asked him. “You shammed a need for my services only in order to entrap me?”

“Oh, the need for your assistance was genuine.” He insisted. “I doubt I would have caught Von Berndorf without you.”

“And that means nothing to you?”

“It’s why I’m giving you the benefit of an hour to prepare your story.” Holmes glanced up at the mantelpiece: the clock now read a quarter past seven. “Well, just under an hour now.” His glee was barely disguised as he regarded my crestfallen expression. “Oh James, James, you’ve known me exchange kisses for information on countless other occasions. What on earth led you to believe your case was any different?” I sucked in a deep breath, struggling to remain calm.

“So everything you said was a fiction!” I glared at him, brow furrowed, and he frowned in response.

“Not everything.” His tone was darker now. “I have turned a blind eye to your pursuits for long enough. The only way I can ever atone for my own past is to be the one to place the noose around your neck.” I shivered, the betrayal cutting like a knife.

“You cold-hearted son of a bitch!” I hissed through gritted teeth. “You won’t bring me down, you know. A few weeks of discomfort – that’s all this will lead to.”

“Maybe that’s true.” He admitted. “But one day you will make a mistake. And I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I won’t give you the chance again, believe me!” My words were fiercer, unable to suppress my anger any longer. His betrayal had cut me to the quick, and the raw emotion of the previous night was rapidly mutating into a ferocious hatred. “The next time I see you, I’ll gut you and leave you in the fucking street to rot, you callous bastard!”

Holmes smiled, then: the most infuriatingly supercilious smile I had ever witnessed on him.

“ _Will_ you, though?” His disbelief silenced me for a moment and, before I could open my mouth again, he swung round and stalked from the room. 

There was nothing close enough with which I might attempt to pick the lock of the handcuffs and both the metal bracelet around my wrist and the bedframe were too solid to hope to break. I knew I would be left here, on rumpled sheets stained with sweat and semen from the previous night’s adventures, until the police arrived. And so I turned to the one thing that could save me – my mind – concocting my eventual escape from prison just as I would a mathematical problem.

Behind all this, one thing burned with a feverish intensity in my brain. If Holmes thought he could atone for his own crimes by preventing mine: well then, I would ensure that every act I committed would injure _twice_ as many as he could save! With Wetheridge out of the picture, London would fall to me; London, and then England, and soon all of Europe too! If Holmes wanted to create an enemy, then what an enemy I would become.

He was right: I wouldn’t kill him. Instead, I would make him suffer for the rest of his life.


End file.
